


to keep me from melancholy (call it blues)

by summerstorm



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Comfort, Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A comforty coda to 2.15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to keep me from melancholy (call it blues)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after I watched Pretty Little Liars 2.15 and forgot to post it. I was going to write porn but then I started this ficlet and I realized it wasn't the porn I wanted to write, so it became snuggly h/c set after the lake house incident instead. Title comes from a poem by Rita Dove.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?" Caleb asks for the umpteenth time, watching Hanna carefully, which, what _is_ with the wary looks, anyway? It's not like he's never stolen a phone before. Probably. She knows she's been acting suspicious, and this thing with Lucas was just icing, but she'd appreciate if he laid off those looks for a while. At least while she's still freezing. 

Her hair has finally stopped feeling damp, and her skin is warm enough, but there's still a chill in her bones—coming out of a lake will do that to you, even more so in the emotional state she's been all day. "I'm sure," she tells him, and he searches her eyes some more. She sighs and looks down and her knees.

"You told _me_ to come over," he says. It's an explanation, it doesn't sound accusing at all, and sometimes Hanna actually wonders where Caleb gets all this patience. It's like it starts wearing thin for a while and then when she needs him, it's not an issue anymore. It's kind of annoying.

It's not really that annoying. Whatever. She's not in the best of moods.

She reaches a hand out over his knee and he takes it before it gets there, his thumb stroking softly over her knuckles. She looks up straight ahead, not ready to look at him again yet. The only light in the living room comes from an end table lamp, just enough to see without hurting her eyes or drawing attention. She's kind of doing the sneaking around her own house thing. A clock on the mantelpiece says it's a few minutes past midnight.

Hanna breathes in deep and turns to face him. "Hey, it's your birthday," she says softly, with just an edge of self-deprecating amusement. It's not really her fault his party turned to shit, but it kind of is, but it's not like he's really that into birthday parties anyway. Or, maybe he is. She hasn't known him that long. But in retrospect she can admit she seized the chance to distract herself from what was going on with A. She did consider what he'd like when she picked out food and music and all that, but she didn't that much when she decided it would be just great to throw him a surprise party at Spencer's lake house with a bunch of people from school as guests. "Sorry about the shitty start."

"It would be less shitty if you told me the truth," he says, but it's offhand, not like he's going to push it, at least not tonight, "but it's not that bad. Come here." He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and snuggles against his side, leaning back in the couch. He's warmer than she is. She can hear herself breathe against his chest, trying to think of anything but Lucas and if it's really possible he'd turn on her like that. She knows love makes people do crazy things and all that, but whatever Lucas had against Alison wasn't about Hanna, and she finds it hard to believe he was ever actually _in_ love with her, let alone that he'd have waited this long for an opportunity to get back at her. It's not like he held back the resentment, between the memorial destruction and all those pointed comments when Hanna tried to be his friend.

And that's exactly what she doesn't want to think about. "I wish you could stay over," she says, sniffing a little from the lake dip. She really hopes this isn't the beginning of an actual cold. He strokes her side over the blanket she's wrapped in. "I've had a traumatic experience. You make exceptions for people when they've had a traumatic experience."

"And you want to wake up your mom and tell her that?"

"I don't even want to talk about it," she sighs.

His body goes a little rigid against her, his hand stilling. "You've made that pretty clear, yeah," he says, his voice clipped.

"Please don't start with that." She doesn't even care that it sounds like whining. She sits up just so she can look at him. "Just—just tonight, okay? You can bring it up again tomorrow. I'd like it better if you didn't, but—"

"Just tonight?" he asks, and she nods. "How long are we talking about here?"

She hums through her nose and presses in close to him again. "Ten more minutes. Wake me up if I fall asleep."


End file.
